


Staying Up

by kaijucade



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Insomnia, M/M, Panic Attacks, brief descriptions of violence, fuck that noise tho amirite, post 3b
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:57:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1597409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijucade/pseuds/kaijucade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a trip to a days-long lacrosse tourney, the Beacon Hills team spend a night at a hotel. Still reeling from Allison's death, Scott wants to be apart for a night, so Stiles finds himself rooming with Danny Mahealani. Stiles is also still suffering from insomnia and nightmares, but he never expected to wake up to Danny holding him close.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for you Emdroid | Thanks for the prompt!

Coach continued to punch the ceiling of the bus for emphasis long after he had finished his rousing pre-game speech. They still had a few miles to go before they got to the hotel the team would be staying at during the three day lacrosse tournament. It felt extremely odd that here they all were, a month after Allison’s death, prepared to lay down some blood, sweat, and tears on a sun-baked field while chucking a ball back and forth with sticks. The ride was rather subdued around Coach’s attempts at rallying the team. Perhaps it was the presence of the security guard (frankly, just a mall cop plucked from Auntie Anne munching obscurity to flop around at the rear of a crowded, testosterone-loaded bus of teenagers.) After all the bomb threats and student casualties, it was probably comforting to some ignorant parent that the school was taking measures to protect its students. Back at Beacon Hills, more rent-a-cops prowled, and metal detectors were being installed at the entrances. But what good were these measures to a nogitsune? A darach in the skin of a substitute teacher? A simple pair of werewolf’s claws? Or any other fucking thing that might arise from the shifting shadows that seemed to loom over their small town?

Stiles was drumming his fingers on the back of the seat he shared with Scott. He was turned to face the rear of the bus, taking note of the security guard’s inattentiveness. “Dammit, Jerry, wake up. Stop playing Kwazy Cupcakes and pay attention to your charges!”

Scott slowly pulled his head away from the seat back, where he had been resting it for most of the trip, eyes closed. He blinked a few times before addressing Stiles, not looking in his friend’s direction. “How do you know his name is Jerry?”

“Wha- he looks like a ‘Jerry.’ High forehead, fluffy nineties hair, his voice got all high and whiny when he tried to control those dudes earlier when their arm wrestling match took a turn. Let’s face it. They stuck us with Seinfeld. Like that’s gonna do any good when Godzilla attacks our hotel later.” Stiles flopped around, facing forward again. He sighed. “How you feeling about our first game?”

Scott shrugged.

Stiles nudged Scott with his shoulder, watching Scott looking anywhere around the bus but at him. “What is it? Scott?”

Scott’s eyes were bright with unshed tears until he finally blinked. With clear eyes, he continued to look straight ahead. “Look, Stiles, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to bunk with Coach and Greenburg. Ya know, keep them from killing each other or something.”

Stiles was quiet for a moment, almost still, although his fingers twitched around the seat space between him and Scott. “But…” Stiles held his thought. But what about falling asleep to _Legends of the Hidden Temple_ playing on his laptop? They always watched a few eps while throwing popcorn around whatever room they were in before a big game like this. Stiles swallowed. There were plenty of reasons Scott didn’t want to share a sleeping space with him. “But who am I staying with, then?” he finished lamely.

“Coach swapped me with Danny. I figured that wouldn’t be too terrible for you. I just…” As Scott faltered, Stiles looked away from him, not wanting to put pressure on his friend to open up. Scott was grieving. They all were. It hurt Stiles that they hadn’t really talked about things, but he also understood deeply why it was hard to bring all this shit to the surface.

“Yeah, yeah, Danny’s not… terrible.” Stiles cleared his throat. He always ended up breaking uncomfortable silences. He bumped elbows with Scott. “I get it.”

Scott quirked his jaw, and looked at Stiles. He smiled small. “Thanks. I’m just gonna… try to get some extra sleep before tomorrow.”

Stiles nodded mechanically. As the bus slowed down and made the turn into the hotel parking lot, Stiles looked around for Danny. He was towards the front of the bus, occupying one seat alone, his head resting on the window, his long legs stretched out over the seat and into the aisle. He had earbuds in and was nodding his head to the music. Seeming to sense someone watching him, he opened his eyes and locked gaze with Stiles. Stiles saluted, then awkwardly shoved his hand in a pocket. Danny grinned wide, perfect teeth brilliantly white in the dimness of the bus. Stiles smiled back. Rooming with Danny would be fine, fun even. Stiles just hoped he could stay quiet through the whole night. Maybe he’d stay up this time, keep his mind occupied with nostalgic episodes of an adventure game show hosted by a giant talking head. Maybe if he just stayed up for as long as possible, until exhaustion claimed him or he napped in the locker room before the game, maybe then he wouldn’t have any nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place post 3b, but (and I haven't watched the finale since it aired) as far as canon timing goes, I think this is after Danny reveals to Ethan that he knows about werewolves but before Scott and Stiles are hanging with Malia and being a smiling happy-bunch crew. So like that can happen after this weekend, ha? I'm shooting for this fic to be either just the night or the tourney weekend, but yeah, I know what I want to do :o) I'm excited to really write my first posted fic, so I hope you enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

Danny set his things down on the first bed in the room. He cracked his neck and started sorting his stuff out. With M83’s Oblivion soundtrack blaring from his earbuds, Danny was in his own space, thinking about the coming games and the homework he had to finish around it. A paper on Queen Anne for history and a coding assignment for his computer science class. He had never let his work pile up like this before a big game weekend before but well, there had been plenty to distract him in the last few weeks.

Danny pulled out the dress shirt and slacks he’d wear to the awards dinner at the end of the weekend and put it tidily in a drawer. The rest of his clothes and lacrosse uniform stayed in the duffle. He set his laptop, notebooks, and a pen neatly at the end of the bed and went to the bathroom to wash up.

When Danny made it back to the room, Stiles was sprawled on the first bed, the notebooks scattered on the floor and his pen missing, probably thrown clear across the room when the tousled haired boy had landed on it. Stiles was still bouncing experimentally, his gangly body flopping back and forth as he tested the bed. He was mouthing something. Danny removed his earbuds. “What?”

“Do you think they could picked harder mattresses, dude? I mean—” Stiles jiggled up and down, letting another notebook slide to the floor. “I don’t know, feels a bit like bedrock to me.” 

Danny tried to keep his face neutral as he scooped up his stuff. He didn’t want to get into an argument before the night had even started with his new roommate. He settled his things on the unoccupied bed. Looking around, he asked, “Hey, where’s my laptop?”

“Oh, I moved it, buddy, before I kamikazied the rest of your shit. Wouldn’t want that to go flying, yeah?” Stiles rolled over on the bed and pulled the laptop from the side table, where Danny hadn’t noticed it before. Stiles scooted upright, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. “Here ya go. Hey, I like the stickers.”

Danny smirked. They were mostly Star Wars related on his laptop, although Jayne Cobb’s colorful knitted cap made out of the phrase “I’ll be in my bunk” floated in the top left corner. Danny settled onto his new sleeping space, fluffing up some of the pillows. “These aren’t too bad.” He started up his laptop and opened his emails.

“Yo, you’re not doing homework this early, right? You’re making me look bad.” Stiles pulled out his own laptop and went to the bookmarked page he watched stuff on.

“Well, I’m not where I want to be at this point, so I figure if I get the work out of the way before the weekend really starts—” Danny stopped talking as Stiles’ cries of “No, no, no!” interrupted him. “What is it?” Danny looked at the increasingly flustered Stiles, who was running his hand through his hair, sending it in even more wilder and cuter directions.

“Nuuuuuuuu,” Stiles huffed. “The site I watch shit on, it no longer exists! Caputo, zzzzzzt, gone! Why is this happening?!” Stiles looked over at Danny. “Sorry, dude, I’m having a moment here.”

Danny chuckled. He set his laptop down and came over to Stiles’ bed. “Can I see?” Stiles squinted his eyes at Danny but handed up the laptop. With a few keystrokes, Danny had a new site pulled up. “How were you only watching through one site, dude? Here ya go. This one’s the best in my humble opinion.”

Stiles’ eyes lit up. He stabbed the keys and then hooted as Legends came up. “Holy Olmec! This site has even more episodes then I’ve seen in forever. Thanks, Danny!”

“No problem.” Danny laughed again at Stiles’ happy expression. “It’s good to see you smile again, man.”

Stiles’ face instantly dropped. He bit his lip. “Yeah, I guess… some of us have been a bit subdued lately.” It was clear Stiles was thinking about Scott, about the rest of the… what did they call themselves. The pack. Whatever they referred to themselves as, Danny could tell what losing someone so integral to the group dynamic had done to these guys. Scott had been quiet at school for days, Stiles ever more fidgety and less wise-crack-y; Isaac was gone, probably for good. Lydia sat with the pair every day, but it was clear everyone was avoiding addressing the obvious. And Kira was in and out of their sphere the last few weeks. She seemed to be the only one to make Scott full-out smile, but then he always had a guilty look on his face afterwards.

Danny had observed all of this. He felt the splintering of the group pretty hard himself. Ethan was gone. Danny had wondered often if Ethan had just been honest about everything – all that supernatural shit – if that would have been his gateway into really being in with this pack of friends. It seemed like everyone was always leaving him. First Jackson, now this. It was hard to be a part of things when no one thought you were worth including. Danny rubbed the back of his neck, watching Stiles. But of course, maybe it was better he was sort of outside of things. Seeing Stiles, and the rest, hurting like this. It hurt Danny.

“Hey, if you ever, ya know… want to talk about things. I mean, even if I can’t really do anything, I’m here to listen,” Danny said, wondering whether he should reach out physically to Stiles, a pat on the shoulder? God, the space between their beds was too far anyways to make that sort of thing anything but awkward.

Stiles was nodding, looking at his computer screen. “No, man, thanks, just hearing that from someone, that’s… nice. Thanks.”

Danny nodded back, turning to his own work, as the silence continued between the two. He didn’t put his own earbuds back in until he saw Stiles do the same out of his periphery.

~~~~

After dinner, Stiles and Danny made their way back to the room together. Before Stiles settled back in front of his show, he turned to Danny. “Hey, um, I’ve been having trouble sleeping. I mean, I don’t really want to sleep tonight so let me know whenever you’re getting ready for bed, and I’ll, like, shield the light or something. Orrrrrr, I can go in the bathroom. I don’t want to keep you up.”

Danny took in Stiles’ already tired eyes, their warm golden brown shadowed by exhaustion. “No, it’s alright. I can sleep through anything, really.” Danny smiled at Stiles. “Maybe I can join you for an episode of whatever you’re watch—”

Coach burst into the room at that moment. “STILINSKI, MAHEALANI!! Sleep is a priority tonight! I want to hear snoring from here in an hour, got it! Hey,” Coach turned his full attention to Stiles, who had slammed his laptop closed when Coach had thundered in. “What were you up to?! It was porn, wasn’t it? With another man in the room, Stilinski?” Coach flicked his eyes to Danny. “Well, that’s awkward, but it would be more awkward if you weren’t equal with the-the players in the porn, you get what I’m saying. This room, pornEEEquality, but keep it under an hour. Rest up, boys! No moans after midnight!”

And with that Coach retreated from the room. The boys could hear him blowing his whistle before he entered the next room. Stiles looked at Danny. Danny looked at Stiles, his eyebrow raised in a WTF position. They both burst out laughing.

~~~~

Danny was dreaming. He was running through the woods and Ethan kept passing him on the left, but never saying anything, and try as he might, Danny could never catch up to Ethan’s retreating figure. After a few rounds of this, Danny could sense a runner beside him, who wasn’t passing, but keeping pace with him. He turned to look at the runner and it was Stiles. Panting to keep pace, laughing even as his face flushed and sweat dripped down his neck. This was a good look on Stiles. Danny wondered in the dream if he had ever noticed how defined Stiles’ arms were in real life. If real!Stiles would ever go running with him, or if dream!Stiles was just a projection, was just the nearest body in the room joining his dream to maybe make him feel a little better about things.

Suddenly Stiles was screaming, running next to Danny, and screaming. Danny tried to slow down, to stop, to reach out to Stiles and do something, anything, to calm him down. But his feet wouldn’t stop moving, Stiles wouldn’t stop screaming, they were barreling towards a cliff as Stiles clawed at his own face, scratching his cheeks, Danny couldn’t stop—

Danny bolted upright in bed. Stiles was screaming. Danny didn’t even think. He vaulted from the bed and over to where Stiles was thrashing in the other bed, sheets tangled around him. “Shhhh, shhhhh,” Danny whispered, knowing that wasn’t really helpful. He somehow got himself behind Stiles, in a moment where Stiles lunged to the right, almost off the bed. Danny pulled the other boy close, feeling the icy cold of the sweat on his back. Danny didn’t want to make Stiles feel trapped, didn’t know if he should shake him awake. He gently ran a hand over Stiles’ sweat-soaked brow. “Hey, Stiles, shhhh, it’s okay. You’re dreaming. It’s Danny, I’m here.” Danny had one arm around Stiles, the other continued to stroke his head.

Stiles’ screams died off. He continued to shudder in Danny’s arms. Then his eyes fluttered open. He looked up and back at Danny. “Oh, God, Danny,” Stiles said. He pulled forward and away, out of Danny’s arms. He held his head in his hands. “Oh, shit,” he whispered. “Shit, shit, shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo, readers! I'm gonna try and update once a day since this will be a short fic anyways. Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles had escaped to the bathroom as soon as he could feel his legs again. He felt awful. He had probably smacked Danny’s hand away when he lunged off the bed. It was one thing to wake up in the arms of your father, thrashing after a very vivid, very bad dream. It was a whole other very embarrassing thing to wake up in the arms of a teammate who probably thought you were going insane. Who had probably heard the rumors, or seen some very real evidence, that Stiles had gone insane last month. Stiles leaned his head against the mirror, grateful for the coolness of the glass. He then splashed water on his face. He just wanted to dissolve into the tiles, become a part of the grimy grout down there, sink through the stories of the hotel, down to the basement, down to the cold still earth. He wanted his head to stop pounding.

“Stiles?” Danny through the door. Stiles turned his head away, gripping the sink counter edge till his knuckles were white.

He tried to respond but his throat was too dry. He turned the faucet on again and took small sips of water. The absolute last thing he wanted was to make himself sick by drinking too fast.

“Stiles… is there anything I can do? I-I don’t want to make you feel like… whatever you need. I’ll just be… out here.” Stiles could hear Danny move away from the door and his heart sank even further. Now he had made his teammate feel sorry for him. This whole weekend was going to be an awkward mess.

Suddenly Stiles couldn’t bear having his sweat-soaked shirt on himself any longer. He pulled the shirt over his head and threw it behind him into the tub. He looked at his sweaty pale anemic-looking self in the mirror. The bags under his eyes like bruises. The weak stubble spattering his cheeks. His hair was a tangled mess, like he had stuck a fork into an electric outlet. He once again ran some water, ran his hands through his hair. The feeling of his fingers running over his head was somewhat calming. He took a deep breath and went to the door, cracked it a little.

“Da—” Stiles cleared his throat. “Danny?”

Danny was right at the door, as if he had been waiting to fly across the room. “Shit, sorry,” Danny said, when he saw the shadow of Stiles lean back from the door. “What, what can I do?”

“Can you just, um, get me a new shirt? From my bag. Thank you.” Stiles kept his hand on the doorknob, not closing the door, even though he desperately wanted to slam it, to rush through it and out the hotel room, steal the school’s bus and just drive… anywhere but this claustrophobic bathroom. But he couldn’t bring himself to look at Danny, let alone get past him and away.

Danny was back at the door. “Here ya go,” he whispered. Danny’s choice made Stiles heart flutter, stupidly. It was his favorite shirt: Red Hot Chili Pepper’s album art for _Blood Sugar Sex Magik_ on a black background. He took the shirt carefully through the door and shrugged into it. The material was soft, well-worn and comfortable. Stiles took a slow breath and opened the door.

Danny was over by the dresser that supported the TV. He leaned on it with folded arms, unfolded them, stuck his hands in his short pockets. “Um, so, can I get you like, tea… or something?”

Stiles smiled weakly. “I’m, thanks, Danny… I’m good.”

Danny frowned at Stiles, his brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to speak, then snapped his lips shut. Stiles made his way over to his bed, pulled the covers up, tucked them into place, fixed the pillows, sat down. Looked up at Danny wearily.

“Look, what just happened. I’m sorry you had to see that. With everything that’s happened… I mean, I’ve always had bad dreams, they’ve just been… worse, for awhile.” Stiles was wringing his hands in his lap. He stopped with another sigh and patted his knees. “Ok, then, I’mma just go back to… lying here. Or sitting. Yeah.”

Danny’s eyes were staring into a middle distance, sort of fluttering back and forth. He was thinking hard on something. “Maybe… maybe you could talk to me about it. About your nightmare. You know, if you got it out there, maybe it wouldn’t seem so… real.” Danny came over to his bed and sat down, leaning forward, elbows on knees. His eyes, so dark and deep and serious, seemed to burrow under Stiles’ skin. Stiles swallowed.

“It’s… it’s not easy to talk about,” Stiles said.

“I know… I know how hard it can be to open up. I’m not trying to force you. I just think it would be good.” Danny had clasped his long fingers together. He cracked his knuckles and shook his arms out to the sides.

“It’s just… there’s a lot I can’t say. I mean…” Stiles found himself sliding to the edge of the bed, his bare toes slipping along the rough carpet, curling and uncurling a few times.

“It’s because of the werewolf shit, right?” Danny blurted into the silence that had followed Stiles’ words.

Stiles eyes widened. “Whaaaaaaat?” His voice rose at the end of his exclamation.

“Yeah, yeah, you think you can’t say everything because how do you possibly open up to someone so blissfully ignorant,” Danny said, not with any tone of accusation. He was stating a fact. His eyes looked at Stiles with something like pain in them.

“How, how do you know? Who—what do you know?” Stiles was suddenly pacing back and forth. This was Danny. Everyone liked Danny. If Danny knew, Danny was another person that he liked, a lot, that was going to get pulled into a world where kids sacrificed themselves for their parents, where kids murdered under the influence of psychos with cameras and fox spirits with too much time on their hands. A world where anyone could die for no fucking reason other than they knew. They knew and they cared enough to stick around anyway, to get themselves into the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Whoa, whoa, Stiles, calm down,” Danny said, standing and placing a hand a Stiles’ chest, stilling him. “Ethan told me, before he skipped town, but I kinda already knew. You guys are anything but subtle. And I’ve been talking with Jackson about this shit. I mean, I don’t know if being a kanima-turned-werewolf is an excuse that makes me feel any better that he moved half a world away but… I think I know enough that maybe I can be helpful as a soundboard for you. Whatever you need to talk about. Whatever is giving you these nightmares…”

“So you know about kanimas? You know about… Alli…” Stiles words trailed off as memories washed over him.

“Yeah, I know about lizard men and alphas and darachs and frickin’ what—nogitsunes. I—Stiles!”

At that word, Stiles had whirled, flying from the room like it was going up in flames or some shit. His head had started aching more, his heart was pounding in his chest, ready to burst. Danny knew nothing. He knew nothing about what Stiles had done. He couldn’t know. Stiles couldn’t stick around to see Danny look at him that way. Look at him like Scott…

Stiles was walking, running past the room Scott was in. He was slamming through a door, thundering up some stairs. Danny couldn’t know what was in his dreams, couldn’t understand what it felt like to hold the handle of a sword, twist it into your brother’s stomach, sneer delightedly as you watched him in so much pain. Danny couldn’t keep looking at him, not if he knew just how Allison had died, just who was responsible.

Stiles burst through a door, suddenly sucking in a warm summer breeze. He was on the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading so far! I'm really enjoying fleshing out some headcanon-y thoughts. Please take note of the added triggers. I hope I'm doing them right and that they're helpful to those that need them. Hope everyone is having a fab day :o)


	4. Chapter 4

Danny stood stupidly in the room for a beat, trying to suss out what he had said, what had triggered Stiles to run. That word, “nogitsune.” Danny had done some research when Ethan had waffled on explaining it, on letting him know exactly what these other kids had faced. He knew nogitsunes were tricksters, walking chaos. He knew they were from the same supernatural realm as kitsunes, which Danny had had serious _InuYasha_ flashbacks to when sighting that word again after so many years. Danny shook himself into motion.

He managed to remember to grab the room key before slipping through the door and letting it shut. He glanced left then right, then spotted the door to the stairwell closing down the hall. He sprinted down the hallway, light on his feet. By the time he made it into the stairwell, he could hear Stiles a couple flights up, the metallic clang as the door to the roof was slammed through. Danny took a few deep breathes and made his way briskly up the stairs, pacing himself. He didn’t want to be out of breath when he caught up to Stiles. As Danny reached the roof access door, he frowned. Who kept this frickin unlocked?

But when he stepped out onto the roof, the night sky yawning open above, a spattering of stars amongst the wisps of clouds, the full, bright moon, Danny was grateful for the unlocked door. He took a deep breath of the night air, fresh cut grass from the fields across the street, a mix of rusting metal and cigarette butts from the roof. Danny thought he might have also caught a whiff of Stiles’ particular scent, his deodorant or hair gel or whatever. A soft note of a cool ocean breeze waving through the slightly muggy summer air.

“Stiles?” Danny called out, turning his attention to the expanse of the hotel roof. Metal blocks, some identifiable as air conditioning units, littered the black and gray area. Danny walked a ways from the roof door and turned around. Stiles was at the side of the roof facing the lacrosse fields across the street.

Danny jogged over, then slowed as he neared Stiles. The other boy was leaning against the roof ledge, his hands cradling the back of his neck. “Stiles?” Danny said again, tentatively.

“I’m sorry, Danny, fuck, I’m sorry,” Stiles sniffed.

“No need to be sorry, man… I mean, I don’t know what really happened back there. What you would need to be sorry for,” Danny said, as he joined Stiles at the roof ledge. _That’s the problem_ , Danny thought. He didn’t know anything. No one trusted him enough to be honest about themselves. No one trusted _in_ him enough to be able to handle this.

Danny stayed about a foot away, not wanting to crowd the other boy. He settled his elbows on the ledge as well, took another slow breath. That salty ocean flavor again, on his tongue, in his lungs. 

Stiles’ head sunk a bit lower. His eyes looked shiny with unshed tears. He sniffed again. “Danny, can you—can you tell me what you do know?”

Danny looked away, nodding. Tried to shore up his list of facts again. “Well, Ethan and Aidan are werewolves, and so is Jackson, although he was a kanima before that. Scott’s a werewolf, so is Isaac, and Kira’s a fox, while Lydia’s…. something. Last month, you all were fighting an evil fox spirit and… Allison died. But before that you dealt with an evil druid and before that an evil alpha who’s Derek’s unnncle?” Danny kept flicking his gaze to Stiles, trying to gauge a reaction from him, but Stiles was staring ahead, his expression quite still. “I mean, you’ve all been fighting a lot of evil shit. Jackson was an evil shit once… he killed some people, but it was under Matt’s influence, right? Is that… is that anything like what the nogitsune did to you… all last month?”

Stiles was silent. The silence was stretching on for what felt like very long minutes. “So,” Stiles swallowed and Danny watched the movement of his Adam’s apple, the clench of his jaw. “So, are you saying you don’t blame Jackson? For the kanima killings? You can… forgive him?”

Danny looked down, looked at his hands, one of which was picking at a scab on the other absentmindedly. “I don’t know what’s crazier. Knowing my best friend killed people while transformed into a lizard because he was lost and lonely and the kanima inside him latched on to an even more troubled kid who used Jackson as his personal attack… lizard.” Danny scoffed, turning his gaze to the stars up above. “Or knowing I was kept in the dark for so long that I didn’t even know that was happening to him, and I couldn’t help, and at the end of everything, he left anyway, and I _could_ hate him, I _could_ fear him, but he’s not here. He’s not a kanima anymore. He’s free of Beacon Hills and I know he’s missing me and Lydia, but he’s better off where he is. I have to believe that. I have to believe, throughout all of this, the not-knowing, the revelation that my best friend was a killer, that underneath that, he’s still Jackson. Still the douchebag with a heart of gold, underneath an extra layer of smugness and snark.”

Stiles was still silent, still stone-faced. Danny wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. Sometimes a touch, a hug, was the best answer.

“There really isn’t anything to forgive… not when I look at it that way. That things were out of Jackson’s control. That he understands now what happened to him, that he’s plagued by guilt over it…” Danny slowly reached his hand over to where Stiles’ hand rested on the ledge, knuckles white, gripping the edge like he didn’t know if he was going to fling himself over. Danny placed his hand over Stiles’ cool one. “Sometimes things are out of our control. What matters is how we try to move on from the bad shit.”

“Oh, God, oh, Danny,” Stiles’ face screwed up, and the tears started to fall.

“Hey, hey,” Danny said, and without any more hesitation, he pulled Stiles into his arms. Stiles was smaller; Danny’s arms easily wrapped around his shaking form. Stiles’ arms moved jerkily up Danny’s back, then clutched tightly to his t-shirt. Danny rubbed Stiles’ back, murmuring “It’s okay, it’s okay,” even though he wasn’t sure how it could be.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles was in shock. After weeks of hallucinations, insomnia, watching his hands do terrible things while screaming inside, beating on the walls of his mind futilely… this, this seemed all too unreal. Someone holding him, rubbing his back, telling him it was going to be okay. After a month of near silence from Scott and the others, this was a kind of torturous relief.

And it was Danny. Danny of the unreal dimples, the megawatt smile, the torso and abs that went on for days. This didn’t make any sense. Danny was a friend, Jackson’s best buddy. He was into attractive guys, guys with claws and strength and control. Guys who didn’t sob into the arms of a teammate because they were struggling to understand a time of peace, to reconcile the pain of the past when no one would look at them. After months of running on adrenaline and instinct and fear, how did one overcome the monster that was left facing them in the mirror?

Stiles was scared to stop holding on. To open up to Danny, if he was indeed serious about listening. If he pulled away now, he had two choices. Leave Danny here, thinking he was a mess, a strange sad little boy who didn’t deserve pity. Go on to the lacrosse field tomorrow and continue to avoid eye contact. Basically tell Danny to shove off because what did he know about any of this? He obviously didn’t seem to understand that there was no difference between Stiles and the nogitsune. They were one and the same. Stiles could still feel the way they had held themselves, confidant and still. The way words had formed in the back of their throat, low and disdainful. Stiles still thought like they had, sometimes, all those weeks ago. Look at these pathetic humans. Look at what a little chaos reduces them to.

The other option was to embrace Danny’s words. Danny was asking to be treated like a member of the pack. That much was clear. Whether he really wanted to know that he was comforting a killer…whether Stiles really wanted to bring another friend into this hellish fold…

Stiles remembered climbing onto Scott’s porch. _Two joggers found a body in the woods… You’re the one always bitching that nothing ever happens in this town._ Stiles remembered how exciting that night had felt. How great it was to have his brother by his side as they stumbled through the woods, two dumbass kids thinking they were gonna be in a scene from _Stand By Me_.

Stiles realized his tears were subsiding. He was all cried out. It had only been a few minutes, but it felt so much longer. Danny’s hand had reached up to the back of his head, was still there, warm and gentle. When Stiles started to pull back slowly, the hand dropped to Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles stared into Danny’s chest, at the wet mark he had left on his shirt. Stiles could feel Danny staring at him. Stiles pulled further away and out of Danny’s arms. He took a step back.

“Stiles,” Danny whispered.

Stiles looked up, into dark eyes that looked both wounded and compassionate. Stiles reached a shaking hand to Danny’s midsection. He tilted his head, painfully aware of a tear finally dripping off his chin.

“This was where I twisted the sword into Scott’s stomach. I gripped his neck tight, and caused him so much pain, and taunted him, and leeched the pain of so many others out of him. I stabbed my brother, and I enjoyed it. And I enjoyed slamming Kira’s head into a table to knock her out before that. And-and I took pleasure in sending oni to attack everyone I loved. I loved them and I wanted to see them suffer. I can’t… I can’t come back from being the nogitsune, Danny. It’s always there.” Stiles looked into Danny’s face again, his tears suddenly gone, his throat dry. “It was me. I destroyed the pack. It was me.”

Danny’s expression was running through different states at Stiles’ words. Confusion. Concern. A flicker of fear. But it held steady at a mix of sympathy and pity. 

“Stiles… you heard what I said about Jackson, you know it’s not—”

“That was different!” Stiles gasped, clutching at his head, digging his nails into his scalp. “Jackson had no fucking clue what was going on, that Matt was insane, that he was a werewolf. He had no idea what he was involved in! I knew! I was warned about opening a door into my mind for evil shit to get in! I knew, and I was still weak, I was still useless until I wasn’t, still went around like I couldn’t hurt the ones I loved until I could. Because it was so easy for the nogitsune to take me. Scott’s a true alpha. A-Allison was more than just a hunter. She was Scott’s heart, the heart of the pack. She would have never let that thing in! But I did. I knew about all this shit!”

Danny was shaking his head, muttering no’s until finally he yelled, “Stop!!”

Stiles’ hands flopped down to his sides, his head lolled forward. He couldn’t cry anymore, didn’t know what to say anymore.

“Stiles… I’m so, so sorry this happened to you. It doesn’t all make sense to me at the moment, but… I know you, Stiles. Ok? I do. You’re the fidgety kid who threw balls of paper at me in second grade for like a month straight, but you never said why, just giggled. You’re the worst defender on our team, so I usually save your ass on the field, but you also make plays when it counts. You’ve loved Lydia Martin forever, but you’re not ashamed to flirt with me or that Derek guy or to have some fun at a black light party. You’re one of those guys who’s an introvert until you’re around people you’re comfortable with. You’re awkward as hell, yet you’re a surprisingly good dancer. You’re… Stiles.” Danny had walked back into Stiles’ space again, but refrained from pulling him into another hug. “I’m not trying to negate or ignore what happened with you and the nogitsune… but that was not you, Stiles. That was not your mind or your heart.” Danny swallowed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know if I’m helping or how to help. Your friends are still here for you… but they’re grieving, too. I’m right here for you. Right now. I’m not running.” Danny shook his head again. “I don’t really know what I’m getting myself into. But I’d rather know as much as you’re willing to tell me, so at least I get the choice of sticking around and helping you as best I can.”

Stiles stared at Danny with disbelief in his eyes. But there was a spark in the depths of his stomach, which had been roiling unpleasantly a moment before. The spark was warm and pleasant and Stiles wanted it to grow into… something good.

“How are you apologizing to me? You-you’re Danny. You give, like, the best compliments ever. You tease me a lot and that infuriates me, but I look forward to it every day. You’re the smartest guy I know and the most compassionate, and it baffles me you’re not running for the stairs after – I mean, fuck, forget nogitsunes and onis and wolves – fuck ‘em. I just smeared snot and tears all over your shirt. That’s—you’re sticking around through that. You’re a saint.” Stiles found himself walking over to a low A/C unit. He sat down wearily. “Sorry, I just, need a moment or something.”

That someone was willing to hear him out, to bear witness to the result of the evils of his past. The fact that Danny, gorgeous, likeable Danny, was offering to be his sin eater, basically. It was strange, but it was not unwelcome. It felt like a pot of simmering water had just jumped to full boil… Stiles found himself chuckling at his own dumb comparison.

Danny joined him near the A/C unit. “What’s so funny?” he asked, smiling in return, though, to see Stiles letting loose some of the tension inside him.

“This is just… thank you, Danny. I don’t know what more I want to say tonight, I’m just… extremely grateful you’re here. That it’s you… is surprising. But I’m really glad.”

Danny smiled a bit wider. “I’m glad it’s me, too. I’m glad you’re trusting me with this. I had to wring stuff out of Jackson… well, I guess you, too.” Danny said, glancing down at his shirt. 

Stiles groaned. “Again, I’m sorry, dude, that’s so gross.”

Stiles’ thoughts flickered to suggesting to Danny to just take it off… but this night was weird enough. Weeping on Danny and then undressing him…

Stiles coughed. Then sighed. “I really don’t want to go back to bed. I can’t fucking go through that dream again.”

Danny brushed a hand on his knee. “Was it… anything you did as the nogitsune? You don’t have to tell me, it’s just… if it was anything else? Anything else bothering you? The crazy shit here is that you’re still a teenager, Stiles. I’m sure there’s other non-supernatural crap you’ve been worried about.”

“I…it was about this friend I have. I mean, Derek. Derek Hale. It’s just… I care about him, ya know? And I feel like we didn’t connect these past few months. He was around… I know he cares…” Stiles laughed anxiously. “I was so worried to talk to you about supernatural shit, to bring you into it because I don’t want you hurt. And Derek, I mean, that’s always been his world. He’s been hurt so much in his life. And I feel like I know things about him now that maybe I shouldn’t… and I try not to look at him differently but then I also felt his absence lately… Fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying. In the dream…”

Danny nodded encouragement at Stiles to continue, his fingers fluttering as if he wanted to reach out to him again.

“Derek was hurt. He’d been shot. And I was there, right there, laughing at him. And I could feel someone behind me, someone else there, maybe the someone else that had shot him… but a part of me was certain his pain was my fault. And I couldn’t help him or touch him or do anything but laugh. And then… I woke up. And now… what are we to each other, Danny?” Stiles eyes were flickering to and from Danny’s face. He was leaning forward on the A/C unit, hands on knees, the lazy summer wind ruffling his hair.

“We’re… friends, Stiles,” Danny said, tilting his head to one side.

“Because,” Stiles continued. “I’ve been confused before. I’ve cared about people before and nothing’s ever come of it. I’ve been caught up in a whirlwind of emotional stress and done stupid things before in the heat of the moment…”

“Stiles?” Danny whispered, leaning closer. 

“Danny,” Stiles breathed, almost there.

The door to the roof banged open. Stiles leapt from the A/C unit like a live wire had been between the two of them. Danny whirled as well to face the disturbance.

A drunk couple was staggering, laughing, making out as they made their way onto the roof. The girl, woman, abruptly stopped kissing her man when she noticed the two boys watching them. The couple, for whatever reason, burst into laughter at their audience. Stiles could feel his face flushing. He glanced at Danny.

“Hey, we were here first,” Danny whispered, taking Stiles’ hand and rubbing the back of it gently.

“Oooooh, ow-OW!” The man called from across the way. The woman shushed him, pulling him back towards the door. They left with as much noise as they arrived, their footsteps ringing softer and softer as they descended.

Stiles felt himself pulled into Danny’s side. A pair of soft lips pressed into the top of his head. Stiles looped his arms around Danny, his face resting on his shoulder. Danny cradled the back of Stiles’ neck. It was nice, blissful, after all that talking and crying, to just stay still and quiet for awhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo, readers! I hope you enjoy this chap! Again, I don't rly get where the Derek/Stiles scene at the end of 3b was supposed to take place, but I rly wanted to make a connection to it and to the relationship they have on the show. So hopefully I pulled off addressing that, while keeping this fic firmly Stanny. I think I'll be winding down after this chap, but let me know if you do want a proper kiss :o) I think I can make it happen, but yeah, only a couple more chaps to go, I think. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles was the first to pull away, and Danny felt a familiar twinge in his heart, but he let Stiles go. They both let out the breaths they had been unconsciously holding and then chuckled together. Stiles looked up at the star-scudded sky and Danny drank in the sight of his neck and the hollow of his throat.

Stiles cleared his throat, looking back down to Danny. “Hey, want to head back? I think those two are far enough ahead, so it shouldn’t be too weird to follow now.”

Danny nodded. He offered his crooked arm to Stiles. “Let me walk you safely back to your chambers, my good sir.”

Stiles snorted but he looped arms with Danny. As they made their way to the door, Danny became acutely aware that both of their feet were bare as he stubbed his toe on a raised part of the roof. Danny took the small amount of pain in stride, though. He opened the door and held it, and they unlinked arms as Stiles passed through. Danny watched the back of Stiles’ head as they started down the stairs. He was trying to take in details he’d never noticed about the other boy before. The way his hair fell at the nape of his neck. The way he held his arms as he walked. The curve of his ear as Stiles glanced back at him. The moles on his neck.

“Hey, Danny, do you mind… what really went down between you and Ethan? I mean… you knew he was a werewolf… you knew he did some bad things. Why… why were you so nice to me back there? Why do you…” Stiles trailed off, his hands sliding along the stair railing. He looked back at Danny as they rounded the curve between flights.

Danny scratched the back of his neck. “Some of it’s complicated and some of it’s really simple. I mean… I really, really liked him. But I could tell he was always holding something back. And I just… wanted honesty. I think… from the moment we got together, I could always feel him pulling away. I could see the end at the beginning, ya know?” Danny watched Stiles’ reaction. He realized he hadn’t even had a chance to suss this out with Jackson yet. Their last talk had been about the basics of werewolf lore and physiology, not about why teenage werewolves treated others in a relationship the way they did.

Stiles was nodding. “Yeah, I get that… so do you think you’d forgive him, too, if-if you saw him again?”

“Huh, I just… I don’t know where he went or if he ever meant to come back… I think I could forgive him. I just don’t know if I’d want to… hang out with him again,” Danny said. He darted forward and held open the doorway to their hallway for Stiles. “After you, sir.”

Stiles laughed. “Stop calling me that. I’m the furthest dude from a ‘sir’ there is.”

Danny smiled at the sight of Stiles’ crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out. This was a good feeling. A good feeling of release and decompression after all the drama on the roof. Stiles seemed looser, back to his usual self. Danny wondered if they’d stay up all night talking, getting to know each other better. He didn’t know how the lacrosse games were going to go on such little sleep but perhaps they’d both break through that exhaustion barrier to the adrenaline slap-happy rush and they’d play at least one good game out of three. Danny cared about doing well for the team but they were so far behind, it’d be a miracle if they even placed. Danny glanced at Stiles in his peripheral. Maybe he had better things to worry about at the moment.

“So,” Stiles said as they stood outside their door.

“So,” Danny echoed, looking down at Stiles with a warm smile.

“Uh, you got the keycard?” Stiles said, tapping the card reader on the door handle.

“Ah, yes, I do!” Danny said, rooting around in the wrong pocket of his shorts before scooping it out of the right one. He slid the card through and once again let Stiles go before him.

Stiles flopped on the first bed, still disheveled from earlier. Danny settled onto his own bed, one triangle bit of the covers thrown back, but otherwise, it looked tidy. “Soooooooo,” Stiles said again, staring at the ceiling.

“Think you want to sleep?” Danny asked as Stiles said, “Do you think he hates me?”

“What, who? Who are you talking about,” Danny asked, orienting his body and leaning towards Stiles.

“Scott. I… I keep telling myself Allison’s death was not my fault. I keep telling myself… be patient. Everything’s going to be fine. He’s my family, Danny. I can’t stand my family looking at me like that or not looking at me.” Stiles swallowed hard, clearly trying to hold back more tears. Stiles groaned. “I’m tired of feeling like this. Sorry to go on and on at you, man.”

“Stiles, I’m sorry that things are like this between you and your brother,” Danny said. “You just have to keep reaching out… Maybe Scott…feels the same responsibility and guilt as you. Maybe he needs his own Danny,” Danny laughed nervously. “Ya know, someone on the edges of this whole thing to help him get right with himself before he opens up to you. I guess it’s kind shitty advice, ‘be patient,’ but… this distance. It won’t last forever between you, too. I have a harder time believing that than I did accepting werewolves were real.”

Stiles laughed. “Nah, that’s great advice.” Stiles let out a slow breath. “Hey,” he said sitting upright and then scooting back into his pillows at the end of the bed. “You want to watch some _Legends of the Hidden Temple_ with me?” Stiles patted the space beside him. “I don’t know… something to take our minds off of shit, let ‘em rest. Maybe if I’m focused on nineties kids running through a Mayan obstacle course, I won’t dream about other… stuff.”

“That sounds cool. I’ve never seen it,” Danny replied. The look of dismay on Stiles’ face at Danny’s casual confession made him laugh. He settled next to Stiles on the bed as Stiles set up an episode.

Danny was thoroughly enjoying the show, the nostalgia aspect of it even though it hadn’t been a part of his particular childhood, when, halfway through the first episode, he realized Stiles was out for the count. Stiles had rolled into his side, one arm draped across Danny’s stomach. His eyes fluttered and Danny hoped against hope that it was good dreams he was having. Maybe just being close to another person while sleeping would help keep Stiles’ subconscious be happy.

Danny shifted lower on the bed to get comfortable and Stiles snuggled closer. Danny couldn’t keep the smile off his face. He wrapped an arm around Stiles back and watched the rest of the episode with a contented thrumming in his heart. Before he drifted off to sleep, Danny placed another kiss on Stiles’ head. This boy really did smell so damn good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, I hope everyone likes this chap! I tried to address the Danny/Ethan issue and I hope I got pacing and dialogue right, but anywho, thank you for reading so far! I'm pretty sure next chap will be the last & there will be a reappearance of Scott, woooo!


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles jolted awake in the morning when his alarm went off. He flailed around on the bed until he found the right night table and slapped his phone, silencing AC/DC’s “TNT” with a groan. He took in the sight of the empty bed and sighed. At least he had slept through the rest of the night. That was a blessing.

Stiles was just shrugging into his jersey when he heard the toilet flush, the sounds of running water. Danny was still in the room, holy shit. Stiles danced around a bit, wondering what to do, then mentally slapped himself and kept dressing. Danny wouldn’t make a big deal about what had gone down between them last night. Danny was a gentleman. Today would be anything but awkward.

Danny came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, chest bare and very rudely ripped and glistening from his shower. “Good morning, Stiles,” Danny said, his smile lighting up his face, his damn dimples even more on display.

Stiles snapped his jaw shut when he finally realized his mouth had been hanging open like a fish. “M-mornin’, Daniel, Danny-o, DANNY…. morning.”

Danny’s smile didn’t let up as he made his way to his duffle, started shuffling around for his uniform.

“Heyyy,” Stiles said, cursing his sudden bout of nervous spluttering. “I’m basically dressed sooooo I’ll go snag us some coffee and breakfast sammiches, yeah? Yeah, I’ll be back. I’ll leave ya here,” Stiles swallowed. “To get dressed.” He slipped through the room door and took a huge breath. Some things in life were so unfair.

Stiles was facing Scott’s door. He blew out the breath he had just sucked in. _Just do it._

Stiles walked over, raised his hand to knock, the door suddenly opened, and Stiles tipped into the room and right into Coach’s chest. Stiles being Stiles, he flailed more than necessary and struggled for an alarming amount of time to extricate his cheek from Coach’s chest.

“Coach, Coach, I’m so sorry ‘bout that. Let me fix your—”

“STILINSKI, what is your problem? Why aren’t you down with the rest of the team? Get a move on!”

“What—Scott? Is Scott not still in there with you and-and,” Stiles withered a bit under Coach’s stare.

“No, Stilinski, Scott was up at the buttcrack of dawn, eager to get in an extra run for his team, to prepare himself for the challenges ahead. What were you up to? I heard some disturbing things last night, but it could have been my new allergy medication, you know how these things go.”

“N-not really,” Stiles replied. He tried to hide his disappointment that Scott had gotten ready for the day without him.

“You alright, Stilinski? Here, come here, I know you just sorta face-planted on me, but,” Coach pulled Stilinski into a bear hug before the young man could protest. “Everyone gets one patented Feel Better Coach Hug. Be inspired, Stilinski. Win one, win them all, for your Coach.”

Coach Finstock shook Stiles around a bit more and then released him. “Thaaaanks, Coach. I definitely feel some – inspiration, yep!” Stiles robo-walked down the hallway, swinging his arms jerkily. He just needed to take things one step at a time. Get Danny and him some breakfast, win one or all of the games, and then he could try again to talk to Scott about everything.

~~~~

The first two games were torture. They lost by four and then five and Stiles scored an own goal and nearly broke his stick on the player that had slammed into him moments before to throw him off. But the guy was built like a truck, he probably wasn’t even still supposed to be in high school, so Stiles let it go. He glanced at Scott, stoic behind his mask, and then to Danny in the goal. Danny shook his head, still smiling. “It’s alright, man. I missed it. We still got time to turn it around.” Danny, ever the optimist. Stiles smiled back. The smile waned as the rest of the game continued to go downhill.

Afterwards, Danny threw a comforting arm around him. “Hey, man, we still have the last game tomorrow. No sweat. We’ll go out with a bang, show ‘em they can’t keep Beacon Hills down.”

Stiles chuckled. “Yeah, there’s one last game for me to score against us and for Greenberg to trip an opposing player and for them to fall into the score table. Oh my God, what is happening to this team!”

Stiles was shaking his head with a baffled smile on his face. He was upset but he couldn’t stay unhappy for long around Danny. They started heading towards the food tent. The tourney organizers had set up a laid-back barbeque for tonight’s dinner, while tomorrow’s awards ceremony would be indoors and more formal. Stiles immediately filled his plate to overflowing with fries and two burgers and extra greasy mushrooms on the side. Danny had a turkey avocado bacon burger and salad and the two of them looked at each other’s choices and laughed.

Stiles had his first dripping burger halfway to his mouth when Scott stopped at the table. “Can we talk?”

Stiles sat there, hands raised, burger tilted, pickles flopping comically to his plate, his mouth still open. He glanced back and forth between Scott and Danny. Danny nodded encouragingly.

“Uhhhh, yeah, yeah, of course,” Stiles said. He set his burger down and wiped his hands vigorously on his legs. “Don’t you steal any of my fries.”

Danny laughed, already sticking a few in his mouth. “See you in a few,” Danny said.

Stiles shook his head, laughing, then sombered up as he and Scott exited the tent. They wandered out into the middle of the lacrosse field they had just so spectacularly lost on.

“Hey, where were you last night?” Scott started, settling down onto the grass.

Stiles sank down across from him. “Um, mostly in my room… had an adventure to the roof for a while. Why?”

“I went for a few runs last night. Wolfed out… trying to clear my head. But I also stopped by your room at some point but you weren’t there. And then I followed your scent but, I don’t know, didn’t want to annoy you if you didn’t want to be found.” Scott was pulling out some of the grass. He took a blade and pursed his lips, blowing on it to make a duck call.

“Damn, I hate that you can do that better than me,” Stiles smiled. “But, man, you’d never annoy me… if you wanted to talk, ya know?”

Scott looked at Stiles. Really looked at him. “Stiles,” Scott said, his eyes unblinking. “I’m so sorry. I’ve treated you like shit. I’ve kept you at a distance because…” Scott’s eyes seemed to look past Stiles as he trailed off.

“I get it, Scott. I know it’s hard to… forgive me for what I’ve done.”

Scott’s eyes snapped back to Stiles’ face. “Forgive you? Is that what… Stiles, no, I’m so so sorry, shit. I… maybe I felt like that when it was closer to… what happened. But I was struggling with a lot of shit and then just… seeing you…” When he noticed Stiles’ flinch, Scott started shaking his head. “That’s not what I’m trying to say. Stiles, I-I didn’t just lose Allison. I mean I can never forget her, never stop loving her. I need to deal with that. But what I’m having trouble dealing with… it’s just when I look at you, I’m reminded of how I’ll never see you as my best man. You’ll never be at our wedding. Argent will never walk Allison down the aisle. She’ll never get to talk to Isaac about… fuck, I just… even when it was over between me and Allison, when we were on breaks or at the end when we weren’t together and we were starting to move on, I still had that hope in my heart, that vision of the future for us… and it’s just gone now. And I can’t seem to let that future go.”

Stiles looked at his best friend, his brother, as he spoke, finally spoke about all that had been bothering him. He tried to figure out how to respond, to say there would be another opportunity for him to be Scott's best man, but that was too hypothetical, maybe too harsh, what was the right thing to say? But Scott kept going.

“It’s unfair to you, to Isaac, who isn’t even here anymore, I mean, shit… it’s unfair to the memory of Allison. I’m holding onto a ghost and it’s hurting the people that are still here for me and I’m-I’m sorry.” Scott started crying and Stiles launched across to him, pulling him into a hug. They didn’t say anything for a long time. Maybe there wasn't anything else to say right now. Stiles just held him. He thought of Danny, of Danny just holding him, letting him let it out. It was hard being in this moment, but Stiles was grateful it had finally happened.

When Scott was cried out, he pulled back from Stiles. “Sorry about… your shirt, man.”

Stiles laughed softly. “It’s alright… I’ve been in the same position. Quite recently, actually.”

Scott blew his nose on his jersey. “We both need to wash these before tomorrow,” Scott said, chuckling a little at Stiles’ grease stained uniform.

“Yeah, I guess so…. thanks, Scott, for finally talking to me. I’m sorry… about everything.”

Scott was nodding. “I know, Stiles. We both need to just… be here for each other. Again. If I didn’t have you, I don’t think… thank you.”

They shared a smile together, both sighed in relief. Scott stood up first and reached a hand down for Stiles, who took it gratefully, hopping up and bouncing a few times on the balls of his feet. “Let’s go finish our dinner, ‘kay?”

“Yeah,” Scott replied. Then he side-eyed Stiles. “Hey, what’s going on between you and Danny?”

“Whaaaaat?” Stiles said. “Whatchoo talkin’ ‘bout, McCall?”

Scott smiled, somewhat devilishly. “I don’t know… there was just a scent coming off of Danny earlier.”

“A scent?” Stiles said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, a scent,” Scott said, smirking, pulling away and nearing the table Danny was sitting at.

“Goddamit, what kind of scent, Scott?” Stiles hissed, before the pair got too close to the table and Stiles shut up. It was a good dinner, a great dinner, with laughs all around and a return to their usual camaraderie. Every now and then, though, Stiles kicked Scott under the table when Danny wasn’t looking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Next chap will most likely be the last! I hope you have enjoyed reading so far and that this chapter satisfied you in terms of Skittles interaction and Stanny shippery. I had a lot of fun writing this one. Take care, readers!


	8. Chapter 8

Beacon Hills was losing, 0-4, in their last tourney game of the weekend. Stiles was out of breath. Between every pass or attempted interception or foul, he ran by Scott, throwing the same line of questions in his direction.

“What kind of scent did you mean, Scotty?”

“Nothing, Stiles, concentrate on the game.”

“Was it, like, a scent of annoyance? Pity? Can you smell contempt on someone?”

“I assure you it was nothing like that. Now pass the damn ball.”

“Balls are for losers who hold back what they mean about a dude having a ‘scent’ near you.”

This just made Scott laugh.

“What did you mean, you actual potato!!”

Scott whirled on Stiles in the middle of the field, tossing the ball to Greenberg who was immediately bowled over by an opposing team member. Whistles were blown. Scott looked at Stiles. “It’s really bothering you, huh?” Scott had an odd look on his face.

“Well… yeah.” Stiles was trying not to think about the obvious answer to Scott’s teasing, because what if it wasn’t the obvious, what if Stiles was wrong about what Scott was gonna say? It would just be another entry in Stiles failed attempts at finding someone who liked him back.

“I was going to tell you after—”

“MCCALLINSKI! GET YOUR COLLECTIVE HEADS IN THE GAME!”

Stiles spun in Coach Finstock’s direction, nostrils flaring comically. “GIVE US A MINUTE!”

Coach spluttered. “EXCUSE ME, KIDDO?”

Stiles looked from Scott’s bemused grin to Coach’s thundercloud frown. The game only had about 10 minutes left. It was the final quarter. He could wait 10 more minutes, but only 10 more minutes. Stiles looked at Scott.

“If I win us this game, will you tell me right away after it’s over?”

Scott snorted. Stiles smirked. “Deal?”

Scott nodded. “Deal, but you’re—” Scott was startled into silence as Stiles streaked by him.

Stiles played ferociously, recklessly, surprising the opposing team with faints and flailing footwork and calling out passes that his own team listened to with equally surprised looks on their faces. When Stiles scored their first point, Coach exploded, hopping up and down on the sidelines with a huge grin on his face. Scott accepted a pass from Stiles and scored their second goal and the Beacon Hills fans in the crowd started waking up, started cheering again. Stiles directed a steal from the other team and moved the ball all the way up the field and suddenly the score was 3-4.

“What’s going on with him, Scott? I haven’t had to do much the last five minutes,” Danny called, laughing.

“I’ll tell you later!” Scott called with a grin. Stiles scored another goal by spinning around two defenders like a ballerina. The game was tied up. Danny whooped and Scott crushed Stiles into a hug along with the rest of the team. They regrouped before whistles were blown. They had two minutes left. Scott could tell the other team was zooming in on Stiles, was going to concentrate everything on him. Scott and Stiles locked eyes and they moved in sync, running up the field, passing the ball back and forth to the other, playing the other team like they were all piggies in the middle. Scott was using his werewolf senses and speed. He didn’t know how the fuck Stiles was doing his part.

They were almost at the opposing team’s goal. Scott let fly with the ball, Stiles caught it, he lobbed it –

~~~~

“I LOVE EVERYONE IN THIS BAR!” Coach was yelling at the bar at the end of the reception hall. The whole team had plastic cups of pink lemonade, while Coach was waving around a pink froufrou alcoholic monstrosity with a slice of lemon on the rim and a tiny flowery umbrella sticking over the edge. “I don’t know how you did it, Stilinski, I do not know, but gosh-dang-it am I proud of you! I’m proud of all of yous. Granted Greenberg did absolutely nothing useful, you were just awful, son, I’d take back your drink if it wasn’t free, but everyone else! Thank you, thank you for not letting us go out with our tails between our legs!” Coach looked like he was about to cry.

Stiles extricated himself from the group, found Scott at their table, grinning. “Okay, now you have to tell me,” Stiles said, flouncing down in a seat, adjusting his tie. The things always made him uncomfortable, but everyone was in a suit or dress shirt and nice slacks for the awards ceremony. Beacon Hills was still in second-to-last place but they were all looking forward to the audience voted “joke” categories. These awards were write-ins that any team could put on the tournament’s Splashface page, and as long as one other team had a candidate for the category, it was included on the ballot and votes happened an hour before the ceremony. Last year, Coach had won for “loudest windbag on the field who managed to not get thrown out.”

“Hey, you enjoyed being carried off the field, didn’t you?” Scott grinned again, slapping Stiles on the back. “That was so cool, man.”

Stiles smirked, feeling his face heat up. He hadn’t really known what came over him, but giving a big ol’ “fuck it” feeling to the universe had somehow gotten him the attention of the lacrosse gods and well… being carried off the field had felt so damn good. And Danny’s smile in his direction… After that there had been formal clothes to figure out and random grown-ups to nod at as they jabbered about the games and the raucous that was the voting time and then they were here, in this fussy banquet hall, with a huge projection screen on one wall and a hundred tables for teams to sit at and an open bar they couldn’t get proper drinks from and Scott still hadn’t told him what he so desperately wanted to hear.

“Scooootttt, Scotty,” Stiles said, his puppy dog eyes widening, his super!frown deepening.

“Oh God, okay! Stop, I can’t take it,” Scott said, laughing. “You really don’t know? Or you really need me to say it?”

“Yessssss!”

“It was arousal, dude. Danny likes you… like _likes_ you… hey, Stiles, you alright, man?”

Stiles’ eyes were suddenly wide with incomprehension. He was staring at a fancily folded napkin on his plate like it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His hands were twitching over his legs, his feet bouncing. “Hey, you’re not gonna, like, run out of here? Stiles?” He didn’t seem to be hearing Scott.

Danny sat down next to him. “Hey, Scott, Stiles, congratulations on seriously pulling off the most kickass comeback I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing firsthand!”

“Oh, it was all this guy right here, seriously,” Scott said, slapping Stiles on the back who seemed to choke, reaching forward for a glass of water and chugging it down. Scott laughed, trying to hide the sympathetic nerves he felt for his friend. “I don’t know what got into Stiles, but, well, he was pretty awesome out there.”

“Yeah, he was,” Danny said, smiling. Stiles turned his head to finally look at Danny, and the smile infected him, brought him out of his daze to grin back stupidly.

“You like me, huh?” Stiles blurted.

Danny’s eyebrow rose wickedly. “What gave it away?”

Scott burst out laughing and Stiles kicked him under the table. Before anything else could be said, the lights dimmed. While Scott, Stiles, and Danny had been talking, everyone had taken their seats. It was time for the awards and speeches. The write-in categories would go first, with small plastic trophies, then the real stuff with the huge trophies that Stiles had only ever wanted because he imagined it would be a cool story to say you had beaten off an intruder with your All-state something-or-other trophy that just happened to be on your nightstand at the time.

When Danny took his hand under the table, Stiles stopped daydreaming. He kept stealing glances at Danny throughout the opening speech. He couldn’t keep the silly grin off his face. A person he was interested in liked him back. Werewolf senses or not, it was pretty obvious now, that the grin on Danny’s face directed at him meant attraction, meant “I like you.”

Suddenly, his teammates were cheering around him, ushering him to stand up, to go up to the stage. Stiles face was flooded with heat, he was blushing like a maniac at the outburst his team was making, louder than anything the other teams had done. He accepted the little plastic trophy, he shook the hands of some official looking dude, he raised the thing up to more cheers. Scott and Danny were largest in his sight, clapping, grinning, his brother and his crush, excited for him. 

Somehow Stiles made it back to the table, more happy than he had felt in so, so long. He sat down between Scott and Danny, Scott ruffling his hair, and finally looked at the award. “Most Kick-ass Comeback in the History of Lacrosse, Seriously.” Stiles flicked his eyes to Danny’s, his cheeks hurting from the smile that was on his face. He glanced at Scott, around at his teammates who were settling down, back at the stage where the next joke award was being called out. Stiles threw another “fuck it” to the wind, set his award down on the table, and in one motion, grabbed Danny’s collar and pulled him into a kiss.

At first, Danny seemed surprised, his eyebrows raised. Then he leaned into the kiss, slipping a hand around Stiles’ hip to the small of his back, one hand up to his cheek. They broke the kiss when they both broke into smiles, leaning their foreheads together for a moment.

“Oh, get a room, you two!” Scott said, laughing. “Hey, wait, you can thank me for that, too, Stiles.”

Stiles thought about telling Scott to shut up, but he was too busy looking at Danny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, so my first proper fic on this site is done! I hope you enjoyed reading it through to the end as much as I loved writing it!


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